Getting Over It
by comesatyoufast
Summary: A series of drabbles detailing the finer moments of a Puck/Rachel relationship. Oneshot. Set after "A Very Glee Christmas."


**Getting Over It.**

Her hand grabbed his arm, grasping tighter when he moved to tug it away. He groaned. Here it came. The lecture. He should have ran while he had the chance, 'cause he saw _this_ coming from a mile away.

"You're not _stupid_, Noah," she chastised, "You're just incredibly _lazy_."

He scoffed, "Whatever, Berry," he'd taken to calling her that, because he always felt like he was crossing some line calling her Rachel. It was an invisible line, and he'd felt it appear once they'd become _friends_, as she liked to put it. He thought it was just a result of trying to be _nice_ to his friend's girl. But, she wasn't his friend's girl anymore.

So, he guessed, now they were _friends_. That was fucked up.

But that was when she offered to tutor him, and that's when he begrudgingly accepted, "_Your_ time wasted."

"Oh, shut up," she replied, grinning like an idiot, "You can say that after you get your first _A._"

He laughed himself to sixth period. He didn't think she'd make that much of a difference. But he was kind of _glad_, in a weird sort of way, that she thought he was worth a chance. Whatever, he'd get over it.

* * *

"He just broke up with me, it's not like he killed my puppy or something. I'm okay," she said, articulated perfectly, as always, self-confident, as always, despite the fact that the words tasted like vinegar, and saying them made her want to run into the bathroom and just _cry_ for the next three hours. He'd never asked her about it before, and she always kind of figured he'd just been tactfully avoiding the subject, after hearing about it all from Finn.

Then again, it's not as if he was known for his _tact_.

"Right," he said, "That doesn't make him less of an idiot." He shook his head, like she just wasn't getting it, but she didn't understand what she wasn't getting.

"It's not like I'm some _catch_," she said, "I know that. I was lucky to have dated him. I know that," her voice did a decrescendo into silence, as if she'd quieted herself with her self-deprecation.

He smirked, "And you know that sooner or later, he'll be dumping the trashcans at your next concert, or whatever the fuck it is you want to be doing once you get the hell out of this place," he nudged her shoulder, "Stop being an idiot."

She bit her lip, holding back a tiny smile long enough to glance back down at her book, "Next problem, before your attention's gone completely."

"Yes ma'am," he said, leaning over to glance at her book. The proximity made her take a breath, her face getting a little hot, and she felt completely stupid for feeling that way. He was just being nice out of obligation. Oh well, she'd get over it.

* * *

"Number eight?" He muttered, begrudgingly, because he hated asking for help. But that is why he was _here_. She was the only one who'd ever even bothered to _offer_, and she was the only one who'd told him, "_Don't be ignorant, Noah_," when he said it wasn't worth the effort.

It's not that he thinks he can't do it; it's that he _knows_ he doesn't care. But she has this annoyingly large amount of _faith_ in him, or whatever, and he felt obligated to at least _try_.

She'd been that way ever since Finn dumped her. He had every reason to, and Puck wasn't gonna blame the guy for ditching her after she almost gave it up to him, when Finn got _zilch_. She didn't, which was Rachel's big problem. He didn't really care. Finn slept with Santana, Rachel gave Puck a few kisses.

He'd enjoyed himself, and that's all that really mattered. She apparently took it a bit more seriously than he, however. For some reason, though, he couldn't make himself _mind_. He kind of liked having her around, even if she was totally batshit crazy over the Finn thing, and usually used a shit ton of words he didn't understand. But she was nicer to him than pretty much everyone else he wasn't fucking. Which, admittedly, was mainly dudes and some creepy chicks, but whatever.

She was hot, too. Like, _really_ hot. In a way he didn't want to think about, almost.

She leaned over, and he could smell her perfume, or whatever it was that smelled so damn good, and it made him swallow once. Hard. He attempted to get his focus back on the problem, but it was proving a little difficult.

"You just forgot to carry the two," she said with a smile, chuckling a little despite herself. He groaned inwardly, and went back to work. He _wanted_ to impress her, get this whole thing done without a _bit_ of her help. He wasn't sure why. Whatever, he'd get over it.

* * *

She wanted to say something, but was completely at a loss at what exactly would be appropriate. It wasn't that things were awkward, she had no problem with the silence that had settled in between them. But she still wanted to say something. She _always_ wanted to say something. And she knew that he liked to make fun of her for it, but he liked to make fun of her for a lot of things, and she'd stopped taking him seriously a long, long time ago.

Maybe she could compliment his eyes, how their deep brown always seem to put her at ease, and their dark lashes are deceptively soft; he is _deceptively_ soft, and she really liked that about him. Actually, she liked _a lot_ about him. More than she ever really thought possible. She thought it was all just attraction at first, after all, his bad boy image was oddly alluring.

But it'd kind of moved on from that, she thought. Because now, now she couldn't even glance at him without wondering what his lips tasted like, or how it'd feel to have those big, strong arms wrapped around her, or – she had to stop herself after that one, because then she just became hopelessly distracted.

She glanced over at him too often. She was surprised he hadn't caught her by now, with all the turning her head did, and all the flickering her eyes did, and all the quick little gasps that escaped her mouth whenever she _thought_ he might have caught her staring at him.

She let him work in relative quiet, now, attempting to focus on _her _work. She didn't want to bug him. She usually wasn't so _worried_ about bugging him, but she couldn't stop worrying about what he _thought_, and she didn't want to be annoying. Everyone always said she was annoying.

"Hey, Rach," he muttered, and her head turned so fast she was afraid she'd suffer some form of whiplash.

She blinked, "Yes?"

"You okay? You're," he smiled, "You're kinda _quiet_."

She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks, before attempted to force out a cool sort of chuckle and say she was perfectly fine, before he prodded her into launching onto some huge idea she had for their next competition. She wanted to stop feeling like such an idiot around him, but she'd get over it.

* * *

She'd chewed on her bottom lip so much it tasted kinda raw. That was the first thing he noticed when he kissed her the first time, and it made him smirk.

And she, of course, took that the wrong way, pulling back those perfect lips and biting the lower one once more. She was nervous, and slightly offended, like he was _making fun_ of that totally _awesome_ kiss she just gave him. For being so smart, she was kind of an idiot. And she opened her mouth, eyes turning slightly determined, and he knew what was coming intuitively, because he'd seen that look so many times before.

But he quelled her protests before she began them, kissing her again. And he loved every second of it. And wanted to keep doing it until it was the _end of time_, and it was just the two of them stuck _kissing_ like the end of some fucked-up romance movie.

And he didn't really _like_ that he felt that way, but he'd get over it.

* * *

She was pretty positive that she was never going to be able to explain how _exactly_ this happened. She replayed it all in her head over and over again, in the sort of way that she never wanted to admit aloud she did – all _crazy_ and _obsessive_, like something straight out of the mind of Rachel Berry, but, here was a a really slutty, stupid version of Rachel Berry – and she still just couldn't explain it.

The first time they met, she couldn't stand the _sight_ of him, he was _so mean_ to her. She _hated_ that they were forced to spend any iota of time together, that after every slushie to the face and taunt behind her back, that he'd be the member of _her_ glee club, that he'd be _her_ boyfriend's best friend.

But, _God, _was he good in bed. And _God_, did she feel so… _happy_ that this happened.

And she couldn't really say she was surprised by that fact, either. And now his eyes were closed, and she bit her lip and closed hers too, trying to quiet her head as her fist clenched a handful of her sheets.

Was that a bad decision? She couldn't really _shake_ the idea that even after everything he said, that ridiculous speech he gave, that he probably just wanted in her pants. It was in his nature, and right now, she couldn't even _blame_ him for it, because, really, she had a good time, and it wasn't as if she was going to completely regret this moment if they just walked away and never spoke again. It would be her _first_ one night stand. That didn't sound particularly _nice_, but it wasn't as if she really, really, _really_ liked him. He could go, she'd get over it.

* * *

For a virgin, she was really fucking good at that. Ya' know, fucking. Like_ really_, surprisingly good. And after a moment of lying there, completely _shocked_ at how much he'd enjoyed himself, he rolled over and caught her lips yet again, "Please tell me you're not too tired yet," he mumbled against her mouth, already kinda _hard_ at the thought of giving _that_ another go.

She giggled, and – _yep_, totally hard now, this shit was too easy – he smirked, taking that answer as a _yes_, because he couldn't really _fathom_ how she could say no. He kissed her again, moving on top of her before disconnecting their mouths and kissing down her jaw, to her neck, "_How_," he asked, enjoying the salty taste of her skin, and the heat coming off of it. It was nice to know _he_ was responsible for that, that he was the one getting her all _hot_, "Did you ever get so…" he kissed up to her ear, nibbling a bit at her ear lobe, smirking once again as she shuddered, breathing going a little shallow, "_good_ at this?" he asked.

He kissed back down her neck, trying to take it a little slower this time, _savor_ it a bit more. "I don't _know_," Rachel answered, quietly, and as he glanced up he could tell that she was blushing.

"Babe," he said, rolling his eyes and kissing her again, "You need to chill." Really, she just let him _all over her_, and was about to do so _again_, you'd think she wouldn't be a little _shy_.

"I _don't_," she asserted, rolling her eyes back at him, slipping a hand up around his neck, pulling him back into a kiss, her hips pressing up against his.

"Yes," he grunted, swallowing once more before moving his lips to her chest, "You do, baby. I'm just _curious_, because, really," he glanced up at her, "It's a _really_ good thing. You're awesome."

She rolled those big brown eyes of hers, and he leaned on one arm, sliding a hand down her stomach, slipping it in between her legs. Her cheeks went a little red again and he laughed, lowly. "I, ah," she whimpered a little, looking up at him and making him exhale a little sharply. Oh, she was _gorgeous_. "I guess I just _read_ a lot," she sighed, hips bucking ever so slightly. He took that as a sign to retrieve his hand, smirking as he kissed her again, positioning both arms on either side of her.

"Really?" he asked, maneuvering himself into place with a soft sigh. She moaned.

She nodded, reaching up to kiss him again, lips trailing down his neck as he began to move. "Mhhm," she moaned again, and it was suddenly really _difficult_ to keep himself going so slow, "I do a _lot_ of reading." Her hands slid down his chest, and Puck had never been so happy that he'd decided to bang a smart chick. He was almost a little sad it'd taken him so long, but he'd get over it.

* * *

"No, that's _exactly_ what I meant," she said, rolling her eyes, "Otherwise I wouldn't have _said anything_, Noah."

He smiled a little, "I still don't think that's what you meant." He leaned in and kissed her again, and she felt her entire body _shudder_. His lips were really soft, but still so _coercive_, like every little kiss was just a whisper in her ear, asking her for more. And she was _more_ than happy to oblige.

"I think it is," she countered, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her back hit the lockers behind her, and she shivered slightly from her contact with the cool metal, "I want to dance with _you_. Not Finn."

"We'll lose," he laughed, but it wasn't a big laugh, it was one of those self-deprecating chuckles he gave, the kind that vibrated in his throat, bitter and hollow, and it made her kiss him all the harder.

"We won't."

"And if we do?"

"We won't."

"He's a better singer than I am," he lamented, but it didn't really sound like a lamentation, his voice was so husky and thick.

She scoffed, "Is _not_."

"Is too," he smirked, pressing himself to her. She was so happy she hadn't decided to have this argument during passing period. After school was so much better.

She disconnected their lips and shook her head, "He's really not." She wanted him to _see_ how good he was. She wanted to dance with him. She wanted to do _everything_ with him. It almost hurt to think that in less than a year she'd be off to college and he'd be… wherever he'd be.

But she wasn't going to say anything like that. He'd think she was crazy. But she wasn't sure if she could just… get over it.

* * *

She constantly tells him she _doesn't_. Like she physically _can't_. That someone 'with her vocal talent cannot take the physical strain such a characteristic induces' or whatever the fuck _that_ means.

She acts like she knows that once school's out, they're over, and that apparently _matters_. He doesn't care. He loved her, and he knew she loved him back.

Why he was the first one to say it, he'll _never_ know. Why she, the girl who spent more time and effort comparing their relationship to a slew of romantic comedies he'd never seen, and didn't plan on seeing, wouldn't admit to it, was beyond him.

She liked to tell him he was wrong, he thought. Got some sort of kick out of it. You know chicks, they just like feeling superior. It's not like that was hard for Rachel to _do_. But, God, he loved her anyway. She was fucking _crazy_, and half the time they were together he wanted to just submit himself to unspeakable acts of _torture_ if it meant getting her to shut the fuck up, but… he loved her.

And she could deny it all she wanted, but she loved him, too. It's like she thinks it's unattractive, like if she admits to it, he won't love her anymore or some shit. Like, she's being clever or something, playing a game to keep his interest. It _does_ take a lot to keep his interest, but Rachel already had a _lot_ going on.

She was the only person who'd be dumb enough to think that he wouldn't or _couldn't_ love her, but he was used to it by now. Besides, it was kinda hot, they way she'd bite her lip when he'd tell her she was wrong, and looked up at him like she really does want to believe it's true.

He knows it is, and just took to waiting until she realized it, too. He didn't like having to be this _patient_, because Noah Puckerman was _anything_ but patient. And all he wanted to _hear_ was her saying, "I love you," but… she was worth it. He'd get over it.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Take a sec and review, and you'll make me a very happy camper.**


End file.
